


Priceless to Me

by BlueKingDedede



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bounty Hunters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fantasizing, Grinding, Hurt/Comfort, Javier is a Bounty Hunter, M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Threats of Violence, Vomiting, hints of Bill crushing on Arthur, neither in a kinky way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28385796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueKingDedede/pseuds/BlueKingDedede
Summary: Bounty hunter Javier Escuella captures Bill Williamson in an attempt to get closer to the most valuable criminal of them all. It's a task more nerve-wracking than he'd expected, unforeseen events revealing more than he'd ever wished to know about himself or the man he's supposed to beusing. He is walking a thin line, and in the end it's a choice of Love or Money, between everything he's ever known and the prospect of something new entirely.
Relationships: Javier Escuella/Bill Williamson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. Changing Tides

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at writing something longer, using a silly little idea I've had in the dead of night. Willscuella has been somewhat of a guilty pleasure to me all this time, since there are sooo little fanfics about it.... I humbly offer this to everyone who'll have it. 
> 
> English isn't my first language, so if you notice anything odd or wrong, please let me know!

When he'd first taken residence in Valentine, Javier Escuella wouldn't have expected anything to come of it. He had paid for a cheap room in the hotel, had dragged what little belongings he carried up the stairs to shape it into a little sanctuary for the time being. 

Javier had followed some O'Driscolls, had heard of their activities around the sleepy livestock town, of the havoc they were ready to cause around the area. They weren't worth too much, small fish in comparison to their leader, but fish nonetheless. Nothing Javier would dismiss.

To say he was surprised by the bar brawl would be an understatement. 

Of course, in a town like this, where people latched onto every drop of blood like it was their life-source, fights weren't rare. They broke out left and right, especially in the late hours of the day. Simple men with simple intentions; cheap booze and cheap women. Heated minds of such just waited to collide, all that pent up energy craving to be released one way or the other. 

This time didn't look any different than the ones before. There were chairs flying, fists breaking what was left of the unpretty faces of locals. 

Javier had heard the commotion from the comfort of his room. He had risen out of curiosity, wrapping himself in his coat to withstand the cold. The area wasn't his favorite one, too cold, too crisp. Most especially in the early days of spring. 

He descended the stairs, not finding the clerk at his usual post, but next to the window instead. The man was peering outside, eyes darting back and forth between the men rolling around in the dirt. It needed the clearing of Javier's throat for him to spin around, his eyes big as plates, like he'd never seen anything like it before.

"You can't wish to go outside now, Sir?" He asked, a feeble voice coming from thin lips. He surely wasn't the fighting type, a single glance could tell as much. 

Javier put his key down on the counter, shrugging at the concern laced into this stranger's voice. "They seem plenty busy with themselves," he found, gazing out of the window from where he stood. "A single look won't hurt."

The attendant had something else to say, opening his mouth to object, although Javier wouldn't hear any of it. He had already turned and pushed through the double door, letting it slam shut behind himself. 

It wasn't that he had any desire to get involved; he could imagine things way better than rolling through the dirt, dodging punches that were intended to disfigure his face. He valued his appearance, finding nothing else about him that was worthy of protection. It was his virtue, the only card fairly dealt in his life. 

The punches kept coming, one mountain of a man hovering over the other, mud smeared over both their bodies. They were properly bruised by now, the dirt caked over their skin hiding the worst of it all. Javier cringed at the image. He still pushed through the crowd that had shaped, eliciting few noises of complaint. Most these fools had to be intoxicated themselves, likely only spared the rough treatment by running a little better than the others. 

He couldn't make out much between the mingling voices, occasional calls for a "Tommy" swallowed by those hooting for his opponent. The men whose calls differed were settled upon the porch of the saloon. They didn't bother with the shards of glass, didn't care for their friend beating another man to death in front of their eyes. Sure, neither did anyone here, but there was something else too. There was no concern in the stranger's faces, no indicator that they even considered a loss.

Javier couldn't decipher much of the fighting man's features. His face was scrunched up in a blind rage, mud flying every time he brought his fist down again. 

A sickening crunch and another. He had no regard for the man beneath him, not an ounce of consideration.

"Stop, Stop-- please," the voice almost sounded as weak as that of his hotel clerk, another weakling between a pack of wolves. "You've won the fight, surely that's enough," he put a hand on the stranger's shoulder, trying to soothe him away from his foe. That he listened was a wonder on it's own, the hate and fight leaving the man's face near instantly. 

"Tommy" slumped to the ground, into the mud and dirt, his head dropping with a wet thud. He was quickly tended to by the stranger, pulled off the streets under disappointed growls and sighs from the bystanders. No casualties today, it seemed. 

The winner didn't march away with pride. He pushed through the men Javier considered his friends, starting to scrub dirt from his face by the water barrel. 

Huh.

Something about him was familiar. He didn't look as gruff as Javier remembered, certainly less _brutal_ than the Bounty posters had made him out to be - but he knew just how deceiving those could be. He still had it, too; had taken it from Blackwater, holding onto it ever since. The van der Linde gang was no joke. They weren't as easy to get ahold of as the O'Driscolls, holding together like a family would, always on the lookout for one another.

Arthur Morgan was one of the more renowned members of the gang. His name was often enough to put fear into most people, a single glance into his eyes scaring even the bravest men off. He was van der Linde's most trusted gun, his enforcer. Certainly, a few numbers too big for Javier. And he wasn't alone, either.

It seemed like all the strongmen of the gang had been sent outside that day. Other than Morgan, he could count two more; one big and dumb like a Valentine native, another much younger, dark skinned and appearing calm despite what had just happened. 

With the crowd dissolving, Javier moved to the side just as well. It was no use to be noticed by any of them now, any plans he might be able to shape fruitless if he had a bullet in his head. If the gang had planned to lay low, they'd already done a mighty shit job at it. The whole town now knew that there were new degenerates around, more people that rather used their fists than their voices. Shooting an unarmed Mexican in the streets would only draw more attention to them, even though Javier wasn't sure if the people here wouldn't welcome the distraction.

He lit himself a cigarette, eyes still trained on the three men. His spot was cast in shadows, keeping him hidden in plain view. They hadn't noticed the lone bystander, caught up in their own business. 

Javier didn't carry his weapons. Other than the knife on his belt, he was completely unarmed. Hell, he hadn't expected more than 5,000 dollars wandering through the streets and beating at random people at all. 

His breaths were visible in the night air, the cigarette smoke blowing from his nostrils in small clouds at a time. He observed the men closely, doing his best to remember their faces, even as other's approached. 

The appearance of Dutch van der Linde had him more giddy than anything he'd witnessed before. He was just within reach, the solution to all his problems only a few steps away. His people were heavily armed, cautious and riled up from their previous antics. They discussed one thing or another, another stranger getting into the conversation that Javier didn't care to pay attention to. 

All of them were too big for him. He had a pretty good idea of _what_ Arthur Morgan could do to him should he threaten to kill his mentor. Dutch was another step on the ladder entirely, untouchable and cocksure where he stood, trusting his people to shoot down any dangers that might be lurking in the dark. 

If he got one of them alone; someone small, someone _weak_ , he could squeeze all he wanted. Javier could be really _persuasive_ if he needed to be.

He watched the interaction, short-lived as it was. 

It ended with Dutch swinging a leg over his elegant, white Arabian before galloping off. The other's all went their separate ways, leaving the big, dumb fool behind. 

He was grumbling under his breath, kicking at the water-barrel Arthur had washed his face in before. His knuckles were chaved as well, bruises already blossoming on his neck and cheek. Javier wouldn't be surprised if he had been the one to start the fighting. He looked the type, all impulsive and wound up, taut like a spring ready to snap. And he was _angry_. 

His lips quirked up into a grin. For sure, he could work with that one just fine. 

He threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping out what was left of it, digging the toe of his boot into the soil. 

If he had read the man correctly, he would return. And that time, Javier would be prepared. 

-

He had been travelling after them for months, keeping his eyes open for the destruction the infamous van der Linde-gang left in their wake. They weren't hard to miss; robbed banks, dead and wounded lawmen sign enough to point him into the right direction. Now, he could count bar brawls to their list of offences just as well.

Javier knew how to handle criminals. He was one himself, so who better suited for the job?  
His travels had brought him closer to the active gangs than he could've ever wished for; O'Driscolls securing the monthly payments to his family back home. They were despicable fools, running around robbing and killing, leaving traumatized folk in their wake. 

He couldn't see much of a difference between them and the mismatched heap that was the van der Linde's. All of them fought change, civilization. They lived rough, holed up in shacks or sleeping beneath the stars. It wasn't much different from what Javier did himself, from what he'd done ever since leaving his home country; but other than them, he stood on the side of the law. He hunted them, using all the resources god had given him. Not out of righteousness, but necessity. 

Had things gone differently, he might've been one of them, too. He could be running along with the likes of Morgan and Dutch, robbing and killing, pretending to live freely and without responsibility.

Javier wasn't anyone who could ever forget about his obligations, though.

He'd gone after men of all kind; be they small, one-time criminals or infamous gunslingers of the old days. He had made a name for himself; known for his ambition and cleanliness, known to treat bounties just the way they deserved to be treated. It was his quick wit and inconspicuous appearance that had the public intrigued, a man like him not appearing as the threat he could be.

Dutch van der Linde was nobody to bother with trivialities like such, though. He was a phantom, a shadow; usually gone before Javier could get as close as he had the other day. Without a proper scheme, he had no way of capturing him, of bringing him in and earning not only the respect, but the compensation. Javier didn't care for fame. All he wanted was the _money_.

Valentine wasn't the place he'd expected the gang at in the slightest. He had witnessed the fallout in Blackwater, had seen the extent of their deeds, the need to flee clearly obvious. 

They had disappeared into nothing back there, gone before the law had tracked their camp, before the Pinkertons had fully processed what had happened. Javier hadn't been as slow. Although he didn't trace them over the mountains, he never stayed too far behind. He had considered the steps they'd take and once they hit that train, he was certain he'd been right.

Occupying himself with small-scale O'Driscolls had been nothing but a past-time, something to ensure he'd be able to keep sending money through the months he needed to get his hands on a proper catch.  
The waiting was tiring, nerve-wracking and exhausting, but just thinking how worth it all would be in the end was enough. The prospect of _thousands of dollars_ was enough to keep him going, to keep his head strong and his hands steady. 

With that amount of money, he couldn't only provide for his family for long years to come. He could return home, could pay for his own head and finally embrace the ones he'd left behind again. It was a dream worth fighting for, a dream he'd do everything for to make a reality.

-

The van der Linde's had grown over the years, garnering more than enough capable and loyal guns. He had seen few of them already, had seen the _mass_ they carried, the brute strength Dutch had surrounded himself with. The man was plenty capable himself, but with the sheer amount of protection, he remained untouchable to Javier. To a sole hunter, alone but for the guns he carried. 

Javier had put his plan into action the first chance he'd gotten. He had been on the lookout for the one man he'd picked out ever since the night of the fight, his saddlebags packed, Boaz ready to go whenever he needed. 

He usually sat in the saloon until the early morning hours, nursing one and the same glass, eyes darting through the room in hopes of settling on someone familiar. The last nights hadn't been lucky, the area likely still too hot to return to, the alteration still fresh in everybody's minds. 

-

"You're going out, Sir?" It was the man from before who guarded the counter now, the first week already gone by, what hope Javier had carried reduced to a slight simmer. 

"Yes," he answered, passing the key to him like he did every night. Maybe today would be the day he rode off, a tied man on the back of his horse, the prospect of riches upon the horizon.

"Have a good night, then," the attendant said, kind as always, maybe too much so. His eyes lingered a tad too long, his gaze a little too intense to be of professional interest. 

Javier nodded, pulling his collar up, smoothing the vest he was wearing down. He dressed smart as always, pulling a dark coat over his shoulders to hide the gun he'd fastened under his arm. 

He only had to cross the street to get to the saloon, the lights warm as always, voices and music permeating through the door. They had fixed the window, swept away what glass had been left behind. The place almost looked neat again, certainly comfortable enough to spend a few hours. 

No matter how little enthusiasm Javier's back showed at the prospect of sitting in one of the hard chairs for another couple of hours, he felt as ready as he could be. Surely, he might just get lucky.  
Good things came to those who waited, as his mother used to say.

He stopped on the porch for a long minute, savoring his last breaths of the fresh night air. His eyes wandered over the horses hitched in front of the establishment, one huge, brown stallion standing out to him immediately. It was a gigantic animal, easily towering over him and Boaz both, a mean look in his eyes. 

He turned and pushed past the swinging doors, the air of smoke and musk immediately hitting him in the face. Javier could almost *feel* the testosterone within the room. It had to be one of those special nights, one where the booze ran more freely, where the women were loose and willing in the early evening hours already.

Javier greeted the bartender with a polite nod, repeating the gesture from the night before as he ordered a glass of whiskey and passed a quarter over the counter. 

The people here were well-acquainted with him already, used to him looming in the back of the saloon until it was time to close. He never exchanged many words with them, certain that it was for their shared interest if they were unaware of his whereabouts.

He retreated into the darkest corner he could find, one with a free field of vision, far from the piano that filled his head with noise. He wanted to remain sharp, only taking a small sip of his drink to get settled, twirling a cigar between his fingers in thought.

The men were tipsy already, grabby hands reaching for working girls like they did for the glasses on the counter. Most of them were broad-shouldered and big-bellied, working men enjoying the bliss of a night spent drinking and fumbling. 

He lit his cigar, striking the match with the sole of his boot before holding it under the tip. Javier usually wasn't the type to smoke the worth of a bounty at once, but it felt right at the moment. He had been gifted this one, too, by some sheriff who'd respected his work more than he wished to comprehend in words. 

Javier took a few gentle puffs, the taste of tobacco heavy on his tongue, the smoke turning his head lighter than it had been before. 

He cast his eyes over the patrons once more, halting when he found himself staring down a woman's cleavage. 

"A-ha," she came closer without being prompted to, pulling out a chair for herself and sitting by his side. Her face was sweet and red-cheeked, the blouse undone just a little too much. She smelled of flowers and smoke, although the latter might've been Javier's fault. "Caught you starin' there, didn't I?" 

Javier chuckled with his next exhale. He scanned the crowd again, eyes settling on a certain broad back, a lumberjack-shirt loosely tucked into a pair of brown pants. The man's hair appeared darker under the lamp-light, although it was still as long as Javier remembered. And when he turned, he could make out the scowl he'd been searching for, the thick beard as unruly as it had been before. The first few buttons of his shirt opened, _inviting_ Javier to take a closer look at the hair on his chest.

The young prostitute followed his gaze, a small frown appearing on her face. 

"A friend'a yours?" She asked, looking back at Javier with big, brown eyes. 

He wasted no time to stand from his seat, stubbing out the cigar once he was already on his legs. 

"Oh, he doesn't know of his luck yet," he exclaimed, winking at the woman and pushing his way through the patrons and towards the bar. 

-

Javier had searched through his posters in the quiet hours of the day, during the time he wasn't out stalking and searching. He kept them close to himself, scribbling notes onto the back of each, little bits of information he'd been able to garner at one place or the other. 

Bill Williamson didn't seem too widely known. Javier had heard other Bounty hunters talk about him here and there, had heard of his past in the army, of a dishonorable discharge. But that was all he knew. The prize on the man's head was insignificant in comparison to those he kept in his company, a meager 300 Dollars that few wanted to meddle with.

He had taken up a spot at the bar, sitting on a stool that barely allowed his feet to touch the ground. Javier was squeezed between too particularly wide men, Williamson to his left, another stranger at his right. The place was stuffed, uncomfortably so. It made Javier regret his decision of jumping into action right away, although if he hadn't, he'd still be trying to get that woman off his tail. 

The barkeeper had hurried towards him, bringing him the new glass of whiskey Javier asked for, taking his coins with sweaty hands. He was busy, running right back to the other side of the counter, soothing his drunken patrons with more booze. 

Javier shook his head lightly, nudging Williamson with an elbow to get his attention. He lifted the drink in his hand good-naturedly, a friendly toast that Bill watched wordlessly. His eyes were clouded, vision likely swimming already. He stunk, oh hell did he stink. Just how long had he been in there?

"You look like you could use a break, friend," Javier said, loud enough to be heard over the noise within the saloon. Some men were shoving at each other at the end of the counter, raunchy songs breaking out from different corners. 

He placed a hand on Bill's knee, finally seeing some sort of reaction as he reddened and swatted it away instantly. 

"Come on," Javier stood, his thoughts running wild at the new-found sore spot. He could use this to his advantage, could play with him just a bit in favor of getting him out of these four walls, away from curious witnesses and drunkards that would misunderstand the situation.

"I can show you a good time," his voice dipped low, breath intentionally ghosting over the man's ear. He was close enough for him to smell, close enough to feel the heat radiating from under his clothes. Javier allowed his hand to wander up the man's broad back, over his shoulders. He was discreet in his movements, cautious of those around. 

Sure, Williamson had to know what he was playing at. Judging by his burning ears and the visible bulge under the fabric of his pants, he knew just what Javier seemed to want.

"It's fine, _papi_ ," he cooed, again low enough for only him to hear. He nudged him, getting him into motion with an insistent hand on his elbow. The man only became redder, his eyes darting around, never lingering on Javier for too long, the desperation within them painfully obvious.

He was swaying when he stood, his fingers grabbing at the bar to keep some sort of stability. He moved abruptly, his fingers now digging into Javier's lower arm. It made him laugh, the way he'd turned this quickly, the way he'd needed nothing more but empty promises to rise to the bait. 

Sure, the man was intimidating. He had a gun on his belt, a knife hanging just beneath. He could snap him like a twig, could lead him into a back alley to squeeze the life out of him without breaking a sweat. Maybe he should. To save his own, his gang's life. 

But once Williamson had him outside, had dragged him just out of sight from curious eyes, he pressed him against the wall, pinning him down with his body.  
His lips were rough and chapped, his tongue tasting of smoke and booze, every single movement seasoned with just the right amount of desperation. He groaned into Javier's mouth, seemingly unable to help himself as he ground his groin against Javier's own.

He wouldn't lie. It felt damn _good_ , the hands clawing at him possessive, the tongue exploring his mouth vigorous and forceful. He felt wanted, nearly forgetting his purpose between his own growing arousal. 

What a damn shame, he thought, hands dipping low. He used one to distract him, to rub and knead the erect shaft behind the layers of fabric, moaning into Williamson's mouth in encouragement.  
The man had something about him, his heavy breathing leaving Javier all hot and bothered himself. 

It wasn't enough to keep him from his duties though, not enough to keep him from removing the other's gun from his belt, from emptying the magazine behind his back and throwing it away. 

"Bet you want me ta make ya scream," the man growled, lips wandering down Javier's neck, lapping and sucking, light enough not to leave marks. He knew what he was doing. Obviously had done so many times before. 

A shiver ran down Javier's spine, completely involuntarily. He was only a man, too, one who'd spent _days_ now, waiting for this opportunity. He wouldn't let his desire get the best of him now, already tightening the grip on his own gun.

Javier slung an arm around the man's neck, but not to go in for another kiss. He reversed their position swiftly, bringing Williamson into a choke-hold, the barrel of his gun pressed against his temple.

"Nice 'n easy now, vaquero," Javier whispered, his voice only coming out with trouble, their former antics taking more of a toll on him than he'd like to admit. 

"The hell?" Williamson tried to be smart. He dropped a hand to the place his gun should be, finding nothing, went further down, attempting to finger at his knife. Nothing. He fought against the insistent arms around his neck, only causing Javier to hold him tighter, choked calls escaping his mouth at the realization.

Javier didn't keep the grin from his own face. He enjoyed the resignation taking over the strongman in his arms, his facade of blunt force crumbling right in front of him. 

"Shame it had to go like this," Javier mumbled, nuzzling the man's hair line and pressing a small kiss to his head. The man squirmed and spat, putting up quite a fight despite his state of intoxication and the blood still boiling from arousal. His erection had disappeared by now, the seriousness of the situation not passing him by.

Javier tightened his grip some more, finding it increasingly difficult to keep holding that beast of a man back. He had to put an end to this struggle, spinning the gun in his grip until he had it by the barrel, lifting it over the poor fool's head.  
"Duerme bien," he muttered, bringing the weapon down in a swift motion, the metal colliding with Williamson's skull. 

The man slumped in his arms, getting even heavier, until Javier had laid him down on the ground. He whistled for Boaz to come, rolling his catch onto his stomach to tie him up properly. 

Williamson's ankles were finely secured by the time the horse trotted over to him, some more rope left on his saddle to fasten the bounty to the animal's back.

Javier stood to pat his companion's mane, brushing his finger's through it carefully. Boaz stood his ground as he loaded Williamson onto him, the process tiring and complicated, although Javier knew it would be worth it in the end.


	2. Crooked Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javier and Bill get familiar, the interrogation begins.  
> From Bill's POV this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a mess. Lot's of inner turmoil as I try to get a feel for Bill as a character, since i can only imagine _how much_ he might have bottled up.  
> There's some more violence at the end, broken bones and blood if you wanna stay clear of that stuff. It's caused by Javier which makes it even worse but... well, he isn't the squeamish type..  
> It'll get better for both of them, I promise

The sun was high in the sky, burning down on him, stinging in his eyes. 

Bill peeled them open with quite some difficulty, finding his hat gone, his arms tightly locked into place. _What the hell is going on_ , he bit his tongue, suppressing the groan that worked it's way up his throat. Everything hurt, his back sore, head pounding something nasty. The trees swam before his eyes, spinning and twisting, their shapes ever changing in the breeze. 

He couldn't do much else but keel over, emptying the contents of his stomach; the poison he had to have ingested. _Jesus_ , he would've wiped at his mouth, if it hadn't been for the rope chafing against his tender flesh. _Did I drink that much?_

There was nobody around anymore. Not the person who'd brought him here, neither the man who's occupied his dreams before. Surely it had been a dream, a particularly cruel one but a dream nonetheless. Bill couldn't shake the feeling of lips against his own quite yet, the feeling of a willing body pressed up against him. His imagination got the better of him these days, providing him images greater than reality could ever be, and that in a situation as dire as this one. 

He tried to work against the bindings, his attempts fruitless, arms too weak still, stomach objecting at the movements. 

His head wasn't working completely, no trail of thought there to stay, all of them leading right back to what had to have been the evening before. Was that really just his imagination?  
Where the happy end of his dream should be was nothing but a big black hole, an emptiness he couldn't quite blame on the alcohol. 

If his vision hadn't been as obstructed as it was, Bill might've seen the figure approaching him. He might've noticed the campfire in front of him more consciously, more than just the warmth at his tied feet.  
It was a sharp slap that eventually made his eyes flutter open all the way, the sting of it enough to bring him some clarity for the moment.

Bill could see into his dream again, could see into those dark eyes of the angel who'd entranced him so easily, saw the curve of his lips, the frown pulling at them now. It didn't suit him, didn't flatter his fine features at all. _What could I do to take it away?_ , he thought, pulling against his bindings once more, wishing to stretch out a hand and grasp this phantom of his dreams.

With clarity came understanding, his attempts seizing as he took his surroundings in more thoroughly now.  
It was no part of his imagination that now knelt in front of him, a gun slung over his back, another strapped tight beneath his armpit. The man looked different, no more drunken glow to soften his face, his skin appearing more rough and weathered, the scars drawing more attention to themselves now. 

He had done something to Bill, hadn't he? These eyes of his were sparkling as if he was looking at a million dollars worth in gold already, his hands rough when he pulled at his chin. 

"Bill Williamson," the man sighed, his voice not as suave as Bill remembered, the pleasant dream finally crashing down on him for good. His head pounded, crusted blood or the like making his thin hair stick together, the impact of a blunt object likely causing him a concussion on top of his hangover. "If only you knew how long I've waited for you." Bill really didn't want to know. He became increasingly aware of everything he had perceived the wrong way before, shame creeping into him, settling just alongside the slight bout of anxiety. 

How could he've been so dumb? He let his guard down with a total stranger, had _embarrassed_ himself; had allowed this rat to play him like the cheap harmonica he was. Once Morgan found him, he'd never be able to live this down again. Shit, Dutch might put him on a curfew, might keep him at camp just to make sure he'd behave himself. 

The man patted his cheek, thankfully not slapping him again, as Bill wasn't sure his head could endure any more for now. He felt even more nauseated now, that he knew. And he didn't even know all of it yet. 

"Who're you? Why'm I here?" He slurred, establishing eye-contact and holding it, too. Whatever attraction there had been the night before, he couldn't find it within himself anymore. He was disgusted; by this man, by himself. Bill should've never returned to that godforsaken place. He should've stayed drinking at camp, passing out next to Uncle, to be kicked awake in the early morning hours. 

But _no_ , Bill had to get his fill. He had to take his chances, and to him, the night had been successful, too. Just the morning after turned out to be a bit of a bummer.

"Calm down, amigo," the man settled back a little more comfortably. His body was in between Bill and the fire, covering most of the flames despite his slim statue. He was too small to be able to knock out someone Bill's size, at least he _should_ be. That he had wasn't even a discussion anymore. "I'm Javier Escuella and you, my big dumb friend, are gonna _sing_ me a pretty little song 'bout our mutual friend, Mr. van der Linde."

That made Bill chuckle now. It was bizarre, _this_ man feeling superior to him, after melting in his hands just the night before. Granted, he had a whole different look about him now, but Bill knew it hadn't been an act. He had his fair share of prostitutes in his life, had been robbed and lead on enough before. Either this _Javier Escuella_ was one hell of an actor, or he was just as weak as Bill had been. Fate wouldn't give him a chance to find out now, would it? Their roles were clearly divided, reversed from the night before. 

"Screw you," he retorted, slowly able to get his thoughts to move on from his _dream_. This man was a bounty hunter. He was after Dutch, settling with Bill due to him being one of his more trusted associates. What did he expect him to say? Nobody sang like this, not even _he_ dumb enough to spill right away. 

Javier shook his head, seeming displeased but not surprised by the harsh answer he had received. He leaned a little closer to Bill, resting his elbows on his legs, looking as if he wanted to tell him a secret.

"Mr. Dutch van der Linde, he's here too... maybe he'll come for a drink sometime? Like you did, perhaps?" The smile didn't want to leave the fucker's mouth, his words increasingly sinister as they kept coming and coming. Dutch wasn't dumb. He could tell a bounty hunter from distances away, knew how to avoid and, if needed, dispose of them better than anyone else. 

"You wouldn't get a finger on him," Bill growled, fighting against the ropes holding him in place. What would Escuella do, try and fuck him, like he did with Bill? 

"I just need to know where I'll find him," he never broke the eye-contact to Bill, his eyes constantly boring into the other's. "If you knew what's best for you, you wouldn't play the big man, now." How could he threaten without any real force behind him? His eyes had Bill tightly locked in place, the expression within unsettling. The fine exterior only kept his rottenness at bay, whatever laid beneath likely as ugly as Micah's public face. 

Bill wouldn't let the man play with him any longer. He was tired of being made a fool of. It wasn't even a conscious decision, rather one fueled by the anger and frustration rising under Bill's own skin. If this man thought he could really play, he should. He should put him into his place, if there was more to his big words, should get the information out of him, if he thought he needed it so dearly. 

He hawked, gathering quite an amount of mucus in his mouth; spitting and hitting the bounty hunter right in the face. The glob made it's way down his cheek, leaving a wet trail in it's wake.  
"Screw you," Bill repeated, voice gruff and nothing more than a grumble. 

Javier's eyes never left him as he stood with dignity, keeping his head high while wiping at his face. He barely spared him another look, his demeanor changing from playful to cold in nothing more than the fracture of a second. 

"Fine," was all he said.

-

Despite the increasing sense of dread, Bill could still feel the gentle rays of sun on his skin, could hear the birds chirping high up in the trees. These things sung their little songs with no regard of him, fluttering their wings and taking flight whenever things got too heated for their taste. He craved to be free like one of them now, wished he could switch places with a sparrow, a finch, _whatever_ they were called. As long as he'd be able to return, to lay his eyes on their comfy little camp again, he would keep entertaining these silly little thoughts. If he only closed his eyes tight enough, _prayed_ for the first time in years, maybe something would happen.

There was no further word spoken between them. Bill wallowed in his discomfort, the stench of his own vomit piercing his nose, his pants soiled by it, sticking to the skin uncomfortably. Had the folks at camp even noticed his absence by now? Was Morgan already on his way? Or even Charles? Hell, Bill didn't care _who_ came to his rescue, as long as they'd come soon.

He couldn't stand the heavy atmosphere, couldn't stand the prickling of his skin, the _anticipation_ of something horrible to come. There was no way he would talk. He would rather be shot in the head or delivered to the law right away. The vacant spot of their camp only indicated that this wasn't the goal, however. This shifty man had dragged him here for a reason, playing him for a fool to have his way with the information in his head. 

Javier hadn't come around ever since their last alteration. He loomed to the side, whittling sticks with an aggression Bill had never seen before. The blade of his knife gleamed in the faint sunlight, it's sharpness easy to detect. His hands were quick and skilled, small and big scars along his fingers indicating times where it had been way different. 

Bill would've never expected this to come from a harmless night of drinking. He could barely wiggle against his bounds, grinding his teeth in frustration every time the rope didn't give. His brain had shut-down on him again, reasonable thought leaving him in pursuit of the abominal pleasure his body craved. It was his fault again, only leaving him to blame at the end of the day.

Why did he keep giving in? It had happened before, had _ruined his life_ before and he still did it again. And this time it wouldn't only be his own life on the line. He now had a family to protect, Dutch... people who trusted and believed in him. People who _valued_ him despite everything that he was, everything he pretended (not) to be.

-

It was a game again, a test of will, a test of who'd cave in faster. 

Javier had cooked himself something or another, a can of meat, sizzling over the open flame. He didn't look like he ate much, didn't look like he was particularly hungry now to begin with. But his watchful eyes couldn't overlook the struggle in Bill at the smell. 

He hadn't eaten anything but breakfast the other day, a few spoons of stale stew that was left from the day before. Likely thinking he'd find something eatable in Valentine, would settle down at the bar for anything but drinking. His stomach was empty by now, it's former contents dried on his own lap, the stench at least a little more faint. _He was hungry_ , could hear his stomach grumble, felt the pain from it's emptiness. 

But he wouldn't raise his voice. He couldn't, really, feeling the rawness of his throat, his tongue dry by now. 

_Shit_ , and he figured the fucker was well aware of all that. He wasn't looking, but watching nonetheless. Bill could feel if, could feel those bottomless eyes on him all this time, just _watching_ as he sat there, withering under the sun.

-

By the time the burning orb disappeared behind the horizon, Bill wasn't sure if he was awake or drifting off anymore. His head _hurt_ , his stomach clenching against it's emptiness, hands and feet tingling from disuse. He had yet to hear a rustling in the bushes, had yet to see his savior pushing through the green to get him.

Nobody knew where he'd gone. He had left camp with nothing more than a farewell, nodding his head at Lenny who stood guard, the boy caught up in his own head. It had been _stupid_ , so stupid that he could hear Dutch in the very back of his head already, his stern voice displeased, disappointed. _Oh Bill, when will you learn?_

He was learning, right now. The lesson was cruel but clear. It was a mistake he wouldn't repeat, surely, certainly- 

It was the sound of clanking spurs that made Bill raise his head. He cast his wide eyed stare all around the campsite, finding no more trace of the bounty hunter around. The sounds were distinctive, however, coming just from behind him, sounding familiar but not in a comforting way. 

His head was pulled back roughly in just the next moment, making contact with the bark of the tree he was tied to, a dull ache spreading through his skull. There was still dried blood in his hair from the day before, flakes of it peeling and falling down like snow would. He squeezed his eyes shut, not daring to open them again. After a day of neither eating nor drinking, of just sitting, tied in an upright position, he couldn't deal with any more. 

"Last chance," Javier said, holding his head still, keeping him pressed back against the tree trunk as he stepped around him. Bill could feel him without seeing, knew just where he crouched down in front of him without risking a single glance. Despite the insistent pounding of his head, his perception was still sharp, maybe more so than before. "You can talk now, 'n I let you go," the man paused, savoring the moment, likely enjoying the strain in Bill's face, the anticipation of his next words. "Or you keep playin' untouchable and I break every single bone in your body."

Bill swallowed heavily, his throat working, Adam's apple bobbing. He tried to ease the dryness of it, tried to gather the strength to speak, to think, to do _something_. There was no way he would crumble like this, the threat on it's own nothing he couldn't withstand.

When he peeled his eyes open, they only focused on Javier with difficulty. His vision was blurred on the edges, black dots dancing right in front of him. 

The corner of his mouth quirked up in the mockery of a smile, teeth baring ever so slightly. 

"Try it," he challenged, voice coming out as more of a sorry huff, his vocal chords not doing him many favors either.

Javier didn't need more than that however, the grip in Bill's hair tightening as his head was slammed back into the hard wood. 

"Gladly."

Bill was used to taking punches. He was a man on the run, a former man of the _army_. It was in his nature to deal with pain, to adapt and overcome. All his life he'd never done anything but. 

The first punch of the other man had him gasping for breath nonetheless. He had moved too fast for him to fully comprehend, had drawn his fist back before smashing it square into Bill's face. Nothing but pain ran through his veins, blood pumping as his own hands shaped into useless fists. He could feel the blood seeping from his nostrils, could feel the ache in his face, the pounding sensation within his head increasing tenfold. 

"That ain't broken," he groaned, still challenging despite his position, the fight not completely leaving him yet. He'd make this man kill him if he could, that way at least he wouldn't get his family. He wouldn't get to Dutch, wouldn't turn the rest of them into homeless, drifting souls. 

He grit his teeth, blood running down into his mouth, the taste of iron the only thing he'd tasted for a while, the thick liquid making his stomach turn all over again. 

Javier didn't bother with his nose any longer, though. He slipped the knife from his belt, sliding the blade over the rope of Bill's wrists. It wasn't a careful cut, the blade digging into his skin, drawing blood. 

The man wrenched his arm to the side, the following pain taking Bill's vision away for a moment when he stomped down on his fingers. 

"Fuck!" He tried to yank his arm away, tried to do _something_ with the other free one. Javier didn't let up anymore, however, digging his heel into his hand, bringing it down time and time again. He didn't care for the sickening crunches, for the cracking and snapping of bones. The man's spurs left Bill's wrist a proper mess, blood splattering over the crushed bones. 

Bill jerked and fought, tried to squirm away. 

But with the sounding cock of a gun, even Javier stopped in his tracks. 

He didn't bring his foot down as sharply again, setting it in the dirt now. 

Bill's eyes only opened reluctantly, the sudden stillness concerning to him. They had found him, they had come to rescue him, to bring him back to camp. There was no lecture he wouldn't be willing to hear now, he just wanted to be back, wanted to see Dutch and the others - Morgan. 

When he focused properly, however, it wasn't Morgan his eyes settled on. Not _his_ usually frowning face, his set jaw, eyes rolling at the inconvenience Bill had caused him again.  
It was no one he knew, three unfamiliar men surrounding their camp, guns drawn and trained on the both of them steadily. 

"Now, _amigo_ , this bounty's a number too big for you, don't ya think?"

And with those words, Bill knew that there was no more rescue coming for him. He was stuck between two fronts of lunatics, his hand a proper mess, tears stinging in his eyes; _weakness_ spreading through his body. 

The wetness of his eyes only increased with the realization that he'd die here alone, his family none the wiser, _Morgan_ none the wiser.


	3. Crooked Dreams pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwanted company has Javier needing to protect what he had worked for. Although he could've never expected things to turn out like _that_.
> 
> Continuation of "Crooked Dreams", from Javier's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for ((badly-written)) fighting scene, some more blood and death (no major characters though). 
> 
> Hope you Enjoy!

Of course it couldn't be _easy_. He never had anything fall into his lap to begin with, the mere luck of getting Williamson already way more than he could've ever wished for. Javier was aware that the man would keep his mouth shut until the very end, he would remain stubborn, would make him work for each and every syllable that came from his lips. 

But he knew how to handle that kind of man. He had done it before, had interrogated the small fish that eventually led him right where he wanted to be. It was a satisfying end, the process of getting there way less hard once he could count the stacks of money he received. It shouldn't be much different with this one. Only that Williamson had way more weight behind him than the usual bounty. 

Javier hated resorting to mindless violence. There was nothing elegant or honorable about it, only brute force and pain, pent-up frustrations that unloaded on the bound and restrained. To use such measures on his hopefully last victim wasn't what he had wanted. 

Williamson didn't leave him much of a choice though. The man was practically _begging_ to be hit, edging Javier on in hopes of getting killed, his own safety not appearing like much of a concern. And hell, if that didn't make Javier's anger double in size. 

Van der Linde was notorious for many reasons. His gang was known all across the country, their deeds spread over many states and cities. None of them called themselves Criminals, though. They lived after some sort of moral code, listened to Dutch as if he was the Messiah, consuming his propaganda blindly. The poor bloodied fool he'd laid his hands on was no exception of that. All the fight within him seemed to be fueled by the desire to protect a gang that was way past saving, his own head likely telling him how much value he held to the lot of them. It would be an _honor_ to die for Dutch, proper folly where Javier was concerned. 

He almost felt sorry for the poor fool. Bill had to have turned to Dutch for a reason, his backstory indicating that there was something sad laying beneath the rough interior he put up. Dutch had used that weakness to his advantage, had wormed his way into Williamson's head and shaped him in a way that would benefit him. 

Javier had none of it, had none of the manipulation, the underlying cruelty that the entire van der Linde-gang was too blind to see. He wasn't acting out of the goodness of his heart, but if Dutch's capture would free some of the people running with the gang, maybe he could forgive himself a little easier.

-

He was inclined to keep the promise he had made to Williamson before. The man had _demanded_ violence, and now, he should receive it, too. 

It wasn't like Javier was squeamish, he could gut a man without blinking an eye; had pulled teeth, cut off fingers and never once questioned his lack of response. His stomach had never protested, nothing but his consciousness occasionally objecting at the morality of it all. 

Harming Williamson like this didn't seem _right_ , though. He tried not to dwell on it, pushed the intrusive thoughts and arising sickness off in hopes of working through it. 

None of this would turn out in his favor if he showed weakness now.

He kept stomping down on the outstretched hand time and time again, the man's whimpering and cursing only falling on deaf ears. His cries and groans pained him, truthfully, but he knew that he needed to keep going. If he wanted Dutch, he had to _break_ Williamson first.

Oh, he wasn't a good man. Really wasn't any better than the people he sold out to the law. Javier was more fit for a jail-cell with them than on the open roads with civilized folk.

He wasn't one to deny the questionable decisions he had made over the course of his life. Each choice had led him to this place, here, leaving him in charge of a man who's head was thicker than he'd originally thought, one who kept fighting despite the hopelessness of his situation. 

It was obvious that he wasn't the first to get ahold of Williamson, obvious in the way he kept looking around, silently calling for his comrades to safe him; to rescue him from the madman who could mean the end of their life altogether. 

He endured, grit teeth and fight in his eyes, the light within them slowly fading due to the onslaught of pain.

-

Javier's head snapped around with the first rustling of bushes. He had picked a vacant spot, had craved the privacy, the freedom to do what was needed to get even the smallest valuable piece of information out of his victim. There wasn't supposed to be anyone lurking about. Not when he'd carefully crafted this place to be safe. 

Had Williamson's hopes been warranted? Had his _friends_ been able to track him all this way? 

Facing more weathered and experienced outlaws was nothing Javier was afraid of. He could protect himself if needed, could protect what was _his_ no matter what it took. 

Williamson was a mess from where he looked at him, snot and blood running from his nose, his eyes hazed from the ongoing pain Javier forced upon him. His spurs had butchered his arm, had left wounds behind - gaping and bleeding - that made him sick of himself. 

He saw the figures pushing past the leaves, his heart-rate picking up when he identified the look of them. His movements seized near instantly, hand dropping to his revolver, eyes wary as he put himself in between Williamson and the strangers. 

The man was _his. He_ had tracked and hunted him, had overpowered the man and gotten him into the place where he was right now. Any information stored behind that thick skull of his was Javier's to take - his hunting trophy. 

The men circled him like predators, their supposed leader having the honor of keeping his gun trained on Javier's face.

He raised his arms slowly as he turned, just above his hips, soothing enough while still being in close proximity to his own weapons. 

"Don't think I asked you, _amigo_ ," he returned the cocky comment, his gaze leveling to the gun pointed into his face, tongue darting out to lick at his dry lips. He tried to hold back the arising nervousness, keeping up his arrogant demeanor and never wavering in his spot. 

Williamson had sunken back against the tree, his useless hand shaking and bleeding, unintelligible sounds coming from his lips. Javier was sure he heard him babble about 'Morgan' between it all, although he couldn't focus on the broken man too much.

"Wouldn't mind a helpin' hand though, would you?" One of the strangers already spoke up, from the other side of the camp-spot. Javier looked back over his shoulder, a displeased hiss falling from his lips at the realization that they were surrounded. 

"Don't need any of your _help_ , either," he said, although by the looks of it, it wasn't too smart to keep rising to the challenge. He was outnumbered and outgunned, Williamson's life on the line if he went for his own weapons now. 

He was in danger nonetheless, as these brutes didn't seem too inclined to spend any time with _small-talk_. 

"You already had your fun with the feller, only fair to leave it to the men, now," the eyes of the leader sparkled, mirth easily falling from his tongue. "Take him, boys."

His men sprung into action at the command, both stepping up to Javier, trying to grab for his arms. Javier was quicker, however, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his knife as he spun, driving the blade right into his assailants neck. 

The man spluttered and grabbed at his throat in vain, liquid crimson spilling through his pudgy fingers as he fell to his knees, the blood coating the front of his shirt in red. 

Javier grabbed for the man on his other side, fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders, the stranger's body frozen at the sight of his dying friend. 

It didn't take him too long to push past his stupor, however, his vision clearing as Javier brought his knee into his stomach, the hand holding the gun only tightening around it. 

He groaned at the impact of Javier's knee, but still held onto him. New energy ran through his veins, the idea of his friend dying in vain likely fueling him now. His gun came down on Javier's head, his own fingers pulling on Javier's shirt and jacket, dirty hands messing up the once impeccable fabric, ripping and tugging on it. 

Javier didn't miss the movement of the leader starting towards Williamson. He left the dirty work to his minions, not bothering with the dying man on the ground, not even the slightest look of regret passing his visage. 

His target looked more aware by now, his eyes darting around, healthy hand clasping at the one Javier had destroyed. He could run. He could cut the rope at his feet and just go, leave Javier to distract these men.

But he didn't. 

Javier had to peel his eyes off of him, had to focus back on the man who grabbed him by the collar and drove a fist into his stomach, only to knock his knee into Javier's face once he tried to block the next punch.

"Take your dirty hands off me," Javier grunted, the man flinging him into the dirt in retaliation, the harsh kick delivered into his face making him see black for a second. 

Javier turned on the ground, pulling his revolver free to try and take a shot at the man pulling on Williamson. He was only met with another kick that knocked his head to the side, though, the weapon flying out of his reach, air releasing from his lungs in one harsh breath as his body tried to curl up on itself. 

_It hurt_ , it fucking _hurt_. And that alone made him see red, the audacity of these people, the smugness of the man pressing his gun to Javier's chin. 

This was _his_ territory, _his_ trophy. _He_ had worked towards this all his life, while these men looked like they had taken the easy way ever since they were born. None of them knew what he had endured in his time, taking him for easy pickings due to his size, his _heritage_. 

He kicked his feet uselessly, unable to get the man off his chest, the stranger's thighs holding his arms down for the most part. 

Javier didn't have his knife anymore. He didn't have his revolver, the shotgun he usually carried left out of his reach. He hadn't thought he'd need it. Had believed it would be just him and Williamson. 

_He had been dumb._

"Got any last words for me, princess?" The man grinned an angry, yellow-toothed grin, his breath carrying a horrible stench. He dug the barrel of his gun further into the skin beneath Javier's chin, the smile in his eyes horribly satisfied when they met his. "Ain't gonna be any _pretty_ left once I scatter your brains over the floor."

Javier didn't need to come up with any slick anecdotes, couldn't even wrap his lips around a curse before the air was shaken by deafening noise. 

It were two particularly loud gunshots that drove all the lingering thought out of his head immediately. 

The mouth of the man on top of him gaped, the gun slipping out of his hands as he dropped them to his stomach. Javier saw the red spill through his fingers, could make out the _hole_ his shotgun had left behind. The shotgun he'd leaned against Williamson's tree. The one that now rested in the man's hands, his intact fingers still hovering above the trigger. 

He pushed the dying man off of his chest, the body twisting and turning upon the forest ground, pained groans sounding from his throat until they eventually stopped. 

It took Javier a while to sit up, his senses still hazy, mind not completely capable of working through the things that had just happened. Another glance at Williamson reminded him, however. His stance indicated that he wasn't done yet, the barrel of Javier's own gun now trained on him, although he could see it shaking from his position. 

Williamson had shot the man who'd approached him first, the corpse already going cold, the top of his head blown off. He had used the freedom Javier had so naively provided him with, ignoring the pain in his hand to take the only chance he would get. 

Saving Javier's life hadn't been a necessity, though.

He could've let the other bounty hunter blow his lights out, could've fled into the forest while he was still preoccupied, could be free by now. 

But maybe he just wanted the pleasure of killing Javier himself. 

"You didn't-" Javier began to speak, watching as Bill took a shaky step ahead, the arm holding the gun slackening before it eventually fell out of his grip. 

Javier forgot what he had wanted to say, unable to do anything but watch as Bill fell back onto his rear, the last of his strength abandoning him as his head sunk down onto his chest. 

-

It was his turn to drop back onto the forest ground, the adrenaline slowly dying down as he laid stretched out on his back. There were three dead men around him, his own and their blood soaking him to the bone. 

He took a few calming breaths, closing his eyes and regaining his composure. 

Williamson was still there. He hadn't lost him. And he hadn't lost his own life either, hadn't lost the _prettiness_ his former assailant had spoken of. 

"What's left of you now, though?" he asked, blinking his eyes open to look at the moon, stars twinkling upon the firmament. 

"Nothing pretty, that's what," he huffed, contentedly staring at the sky, bathing in the cool light, his chest feeling lighter than it had for some time now. 

And as he laid and stared, he couldn't hold onto himself. He couldn't do anything but laugh in between the cooling bodies, with his richest catch still alive, leaning up against the stem of a tree. There was an irony about all of this, his bounty protecting him of all, him surviving an assault by three men doubling him in size and age. 

Bill could've had him, he could've _scattered his brains over the floor_ , but he hadn't. 

He hadn't. 

And that realization meant something. Even if Javier wasn't sure what that might be yet.


	4. Turbulence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having to flee from the scene, Javier takes charge forward; in more ways than the literal one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There aren't any warnings for this one, yay! I've struggled with this especially, seeing as it is the true _beginning_ of this story. So, well, take it and enjoy it my friends.

He had laid there, eyes directed towards the black sky, the moon and stars granting nothing but a slight gleam of light. His cackling had died down eventually, chest still heaving from the intensity of it, his body still filled with red hot adrenaline. 

The excitement ran through his veins in a rush, wafting off him in waves. He was _buzzing_ , on edge and unable to settle down, all the while finding it impossible to stand or move at all. His shirt hung loose and un-tucked, stained with crimson and dirt. Not all of that could be Javier's own, the likeliness of that considerably small with the lighter injuries he'd suffered.

Javier had been close to death before, had looked it straight in the eyes, his own wide open and frightened, the end of his life appearing like an ever-present danger ever since. Looking death in the eyes back then, staring right ahead into the prospect of eternal darkness had fueled the fear within him - had made him aware of his own weakness, of the finiteness of his existence.

He had ran from those fears before, had left the danger behind, had left everything and everyone he had known. Nothing about that had given him any satisfaction, nothing about the _cut_ left in his flesh and his life allowing him to feel as free as he did now. 

He had run, bloodied and stumbling, grasping the reigns of the first animal he could find, urging the poor mule on until it eventually broke down right beneath him in the desert. His throat had bled, had spilled all over his shirt, no matter how much pressure he'd applied against the wound. 

He could've died, he _should've_ , but Javier had never been one to give up easily. Javier wasn't one to go down without a fight.

Those images of the past were mere shadows now, dancing in front of his eyes, making a mockery of his once-again mangled body. The exhaustion didn't feel too bad for now, though. He could feel his own strength beneath it, finally saw that he was in control of the situation he had brought upon himself.

Even if it hadn't been their intention, the hunters had only helped him on this journey. He didn't need to stumble in the dark any longer, didn't need to grasp at any more straws, pulling and tugging on everything he could find. 

Williamson's first reflex hadn't been to save his own life. He hadn't thought far enough for that, more used to work with those comrades of his, those men he called his _friends_. Javier's shotgun had fallen into his hands, the fingers on the trigger directing him to dispose of their _shared_ enemies first and foremost. 

It was about the only thing they'd shared until this moment, the first time since they'd come to know another that they had some sort of mutual agreement. 

Both saw the value behind Javier's life. At least from his perspective.

-

Javier had trouble getting back onto his feet, his legs shaking as he tried to situate them upon the ground, the movement alone causing his stomach to hurt and his breath to run short. He wouldn't admit it, but those fools had gotten him good. He hadn't been beaten down like this in a while, never one to brawl or scramble around in the dirt. Javier much preferred a more elegant approach, but he couldn't always stay on the sidelines. 

It had been well worth it, too, Williamson slumped against the tree testament enough of that. 

Once Javier had finally regained his balance, he approached the other man first. He didn't bother with the bodies at his feet, gingerly stepping around or above them, not keen on getting his boots soiled with their fluids. 

He bent down to get his shotgun off the ground, moving to pull the safety back into place. It needed nothing more than a look to determine that it was still loaded, bullets remaining within it, every chance given to dispose of Javier once and for all. 

He slung the weapon over his shoulder, crouching back down in front of the visibly unconscious man. His fingers placed beneath his chin, tilting the beaten and bleeding face up for Javier to see. Williamson's hair was in disarray, crumbs of blood, fresh and old, making it stick together, all of it appearing mangled rather than soft. He sighed lightly, shaking his head at the damage he had inflicted out of nothing but desperation. 

There was a much easier way than that. He knew as much now, knew that he shouldn't have presented himself as the enemy, but rather a _friend_. Maybe if he'd done so from the start, he could've already had his hands on van der Linde himself. If he had sat down to have a drink and a chat, filled the big man up sufficiently and tickled the information out of him with what he considered to be his silver tongue, he could be rolling in cash by now.

He could be home.

But he had no time to wallow in self-pity. 

After what had unfolded at this spot he'd so carefully picked, Javier knew that they had to move on. It wasn't safe to stay as close to the town, not with the gunshots that had reverberated all through the area. Only more, nosy or righteous lawmen would come to look, the few bounty hunters now dealt with likely not being the only ones around. He didn't like feeling unsafe, didn't enjoy the prickling sensation under his skin, the feeling of being watched. 

Heaving Williamson onto Boaz' back would only turn into a greater hurdle now than it had been before. With blemishes and sore spots shaping on his entire body, Javier barely had the strength to get the other man into a sitting position. Every time he pushed him upwards, he slumped right over again, his state of unconsciousness doing Javier little favors. He was dead-weight, Javier's hands holding him beneath his armpits evoking little movement, everything about him appearing way heavier than it had been the first time around.

Since he had no way of lifting him just now, Javier busied himself with tying his wrists again. He cared little that the man was _likely_ in no state to do harm, having seen just how much he still was capable of with only one hand at his disposal. 

Javier was more careful as he wrapped the rope around meaty wrists. He avoided the cuts he'd inflicted, not wanting to cause them to start bleeding even heavier. They'd be leaving a trail of blood behind anyways, no use to make it more distinguishable. 

If he wanted the man to survive, Javier would have to clean and disinfect the nasty wounds, would have to wrap his hand and hope the bones within it started growing into place on their own. Maybe he should let him go... should allow him to run to a doctor to get his hand looked at. But would that be enough to gain his trust? Would the man even consider coming back to him once he was free again?  
It was way too late to come up with excuses now, but maybe, if he just tried hard enough, he could make himself look a little more agreeable by the end of it. 

He honestly didn't care what Williamson thought of him, cared little if he hated or feared, despised or loved him. Javier wanted nothing more but the information stored within his head. And nothing could change that. Not even the things he'd felt under his hands in that back-alley in Valentine. 

Javier had been abstinent for quite some time, his head stuck into work, no mind left for the simpler pleasures of life. Even before, he'd rarely picked a working girl, finding his standards to be unattainable, his cravings too questionable for the general public. It wasn't odd that this surge of arousal was still haunting him. Not odd at all. 

He certainly wasn't angry for blowing his cover so swiftly before, definitely felt no regret for getting nothing more than a kiss from the other man. His heart was hammering in his chest thinking about it, the feeling of bearded lips against his own while his body was pressed against a much bigger one. 

All he needed was time to forget, time to get his head straight all over again. With the prospect of money and home, he simply had to.

Javier bit down on his teeth, grunting as he eventually managed to get a good grip on the heavy man. He stabilized him against his chest, felt Williamson's head roll against his shoulder, slowly raising from his crouch and into a standing position. 

Boaz was standing at the ready, saddled, loaded and happy to get going. He shared his owner's sentiment, not taking too kindly to the cooling bodies around, his nostrils flaring from anxiety or disgust as he stepped around them. 

His steed hadn't bolted upon hearing the sounds of gunshots, keeping in the distance, but never straying too far. Javier was thankful for that much, never once believing he'd come to know a horse with a similar temper and endurance as he himself.

Getting Williamson onto his horse's back turned out to be a proper hassle, the blood still running from his nostrils to seep into the fabric of the shirt Javier was wearing. He'd have time to mourn it later, though; would find the time to change into something proper, something clean, once Williamson and he were out of immediate danger. 

Even if it was likely just his imagination, he bet there were hounds on the search already, lawmen lured into the woods to investigate what might've been yet another grizzly robbery. From the way things were going, those didn't seem to get any rarer after all.

Javier secured Williamson on Boaz' back, pulling the ropes tight to avoid having him slip off at any point in time. He stepped into a stirrup after, heaving himself upwards with difficulty, his ripped shirt displaying the way taut muscles moved right beneath it. Black and purple were blossoming around his stomach already, mostly covered by the remaining fabric. 

He urged his horse on by a light press into his flanks, snapping the reigns to make him start into a faster trot, only letting him break into gallop once they had maneuvered through most of the trees. 

The area began clearing up, woodland changing into wide fields, mountains rising in the distance. Fresh air wafted past his face, the cold of the night slowly snaking it's way through his adrenaline-heated skin. He felt more calm now, finally able to follow a trail of thought for more than a few seconds a time. 

-

It was the telltale sound of flowing water that eventually beckoned Javier to slow his horses' gait. He kept the reigns in one hand, ducking under the upcoming tree branches at head-height. They had been moving for quite some time, the night shifting into day upon the horizon, announcing itself by a pink tint to the sky. 

He breathed in and out deeply, taking in fresh air, always finding that within the Heartlands to be especially pleasant. Even if the area could get cold at this time of year, he liked it rather well, seeing no issue to spend more time around; Especially with van der Linde and his posse nearby. 

There were light groans from the back of his horse, Williamson apparently starting to come back to life. The man twisted his wrists against another, chafing at his harmed skin himself, another few pitiful sounds finding their way to Javier's ears. 

"Mornin' there," he greeted, pulling Boaz' reigns once more to make him stop, having found a suitable place to linger for the moment. Only time would tell if they'd have to move on, whether or not anybody managed to find them. 

Javier climbed off the saddle, stretching out his back and legs, the areas quite sore after having ridden for so long. He stepped closer to Williamson, starting to untie the rope holding him on the animal. 

"Sorry about that," he said conversationally, hands working away until he could eventually assist the man off his horse. He didn't dare loosen the bindings around his wrists, keeping them tightly bound behind his back for now, planning to think about it once he was able to determine the other's state.

Williamson obviously felt discomforted, his legs giving in the moment Javier helped him step to the ground. He only needed further help, Javier slinging Bill's arm around his own shoulder, walking them over to a nearby tree before he let him sink down against the stem of it. The man looked up with question in his eyes, his mouth opening without a single syllable expressing. 

Javier had planned not to pity him, had planned not to feel absolutely disgusted at himself for treating this man like garbage. But he was. He was doing all those things and more, trying and failing to keep up the ruthless act. It was easy for him to pretend that he was just playing a different one.

He went through his saddlebags, rummaging and ignoring that his order had been messed up with the last hasty departure. Once he finally found the cup he had searched for, he jogged over to the stream to fill it with crisp clear water. It was cold when he tested the quality himself, tasting better than it did in most other places. 

"Here," he crouched down in front of the bigger man, holding the cup to his lips to offer him a drink. 

The man's eyes were mistrusting, searching Javier's face for any sign of further cruelty. Javier watched him closely as well, keeping his expression as friendly as he possibly could. He nudged the man with the edge of the small metal cup, waiting.

Williamson's physical demands seemed to win in the end. He opened his mouth gently, allowing Javier to tilt the cup to let him drink. The bob of his throat was visible beneath his skin, Javier's eyes drawn between following that motion or that of a trickle of water running down the corner of his mouth. 

He set the cup back aside once it was empty, standing from the spot he had occupied until then. 

"What's- what's goin' on here? Why are you..." Williamson's voice was still hoarse, needing much more lubrication than what the small cup could give him. "Why're you doing this?" He finished his question, his head leaning against the tree, lids drooping in exhaustion and tiredness. 

"You saved my life." Was all Javier had to answer for now, returning to the man's side with a rag he had wet in the stream beforehand. He looked at the man, question laying behind his eyes as he raised the cloth within his hands a little. 

When the man overlooked the gesture to keep ogling him, he went ahead nonetheless, running it over Williamson's face first. He wiped away the dried blood from his nose, dabbed at the wound on his head. It were soft and careful motions that led his hands, Javier full-heartedly intending to not hurt the other any more. 

"I ain't-" Williamson finally began to object, although he quietened right away, the cogs in his head working. "I just shot a guy," he muttered with a much smaller voice, squeezing his eyes shut while Javier cleaned his brow. "Two guys," he corrected himself, although the memory seemed foggy at most. 

"You saved me," Javier explained anew, patient eyes waiting to meet questioning, dazed ones.

"What?" Williamson still put on his bullhead-act, keeping himself locked up tight, inching away from Javier and the rag. He didn't seem comfortable in his proximity, apparently having trouble to believe a single word coming from Javier's lips. Maybe he truly didn't understand, maybe he _had_ been hit one time too many.

"You saved my life." Javier emphasized, repeating his words from before to get them through Bill's thick skull for good. He placed his hands down into his lap, fingers nervously wringing the cloth between them. He could put on a good act, and he _knew_ that it would work out sooner or later.

"I shot a guy," Williamson repeated uselessly, his eyes dropping to the floor, watching strands of grass dance in the light breeze. Blood stains rested atop of some, his blood, working it's way down from the wounds of his hand and lower arm.

"You kept that guy from shootin' me," Javier explained again, patient tone carrying all the softness it could.

Understanding dawned on the other man's face, his eyes finding Javier's, the slightest tilt to his head making him appear way less ugly than Javier cared to admit.

"Wasn't on purpose," the man whispered, his throat bobbing when he swallowed.

"But it kept me alive." Javier sighed, leaning forward again, moving on his knees to slide the blade of his knife over the ropes that secured Williamson's wrists. The man pulled his arms free, although weakly, letting them rest in the grass.

"What is this?" He asked again, looking up from under his brow, a frown settling on his features. There was something behind it, hope, maybe; the wish to get out of this alive after all. Mistrust, still; a certain doubt that came with years of living in uncertainty.

Javier stayed quiet, his eyes searching the other's face, shyly skimming over his features. 

"--Thank you," he muttered, intentionally quiet, looking down to his own hands. 

It was enough to render the bigger man speechless, enough to have his mouth gape for a moment's time. Javier caught the gesture from the corners of his eyes, caught the expression working it's way onto Bill's face. 

Belief. Hope. 

He wanted Javier's words to be true, his body language indicating that he was anticipating the next ones.

"Will you let me take care of your wounds?" Javier asked, raising his eyes, regret dancing behind them. "Make it up to you, somehow?" He added quietly, waiting. Hoping he'd receive the reaction he needed.

The man didn't raise his voice to speak again. He didn't need to, however, his resolve crumbling as he relaxed ever so slightly, as he stretched his hand out for Javier to take.


	5. Weeping Willows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With an uneventful day ahead, Javier has quite a lot of time to reflect. And even more time to admire the man he's supposed to be exploiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one turned a little more porn-y, a little more friendly and a little longer.   
> Hope you enjoy :-)

What was love but a means to an end? What was the reason to give your heart willingly, to offer it on a silver platter - to let it be taken by a person deserving of nothing as fragile and true? Foolishness, stupidity, _hope_? The hope not to be hurt for once, to have made a fair decision for once, a good one. 

Javier had never been one for _good_ decisions. He was a lost cause, hopeless after being shut down years ago, not eager to repeat any of the mistakes that had forced him out of his home. Maybe the feelings weren't worth the effort, maybe his romantic nature fell just short of touching the people it sought. 

His last love had left him at a loss, had left him with nothing; alone and beaten-down, chased out of the country he had lived in ever since being born. Why would he allow that to happen again? Why would he let his heart dictate his actions ever again if he _knew_ where it got him? No woman, no premise of comfort was worth that much. Not to him. Never again. 

He could've relied on simpler means, could've resorted to picking working girls to satisfy his apparent needs. But what was it worth to him? A few silver coins for a night of a pretense of love? For meaningless whispers and over-exaggerated declarations of lust? 

Pretending had never been his strong suit, the roles he'd played through the years more forced than anything - his _suave_ nature feigned rather than natural. 

Deep within himself he knew that he would never be anything but a hopeless romantic. He couldn't give in to pleasure if it wasn't true, couldn't even enjoy the relief of his own hand without dreamy images floating through his head. 

Javier bit back a frustrated noise, the edges of his teeth painfully digging into his lower lip. 

After patching up Williamson as good as he could, he had left the man alone, had allowed him to recline against the bark of his tree, to shut his eyes and rest properly for the first time in the last days. It was a testament to the weakness of his heart, the bundled clothes he had tucked under the man's head, the blanket he had draped across his legs. 

The sun stood high in the sky by now, the day shining in all it's glory around the both of them, oblivious to their tired spirits. Resting was all they could've done, although Javier's eyes still stayed open, alert and cautious, glancing back at Williamson's slumped shape time and time again.

He hadn't been able to keep his thoughts from wandering, to keep them from trailing back to their first meeting, to the things he'd felt under the man's hands. It was sickening, the desperation with which Javier had slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his pants, how he had all but forgotten about his plans to change into something more appropriate. 

Nothing about that mattered though, because he had himself firmly in hand, had his eyes firmly on Williamson. And even though the man was far gone, was noisily enjoying his slumber, that only offered Javier more of a chance to admire his every breath. 

Arousal had started to pool in his core ever since their hands had met for that first reluctant touch, his body _assuming_ that it was a sign of more things to come - of a repetition of their meeting in the dingy bar days ago. 

He squeezed himself roughly, biting back on whimpers and moans alike, just staring and stroking, not allowing a single sound to slip from his lips. If Williamson were to open his eyes, he wouldn't know what Javier had been doing. He would overlook the movement of his hand, would stare right into his eyes like he always did, giving him that puppy look he had no way to decipher. 

Javier was sure that the man _wanted_ him, was sure that he would turn to putty in his hands if he just squeezed the right buttons. But could he really play with him like that? Could he keep his goal in mind when all this man did seemed so genuine? His confusion from before, his hopeful stare and gestures, everything indicated that he was genuinely taken by surprise. A man like him didn't have the capacities for pretending. He latched onto Javier's every word, absorbed all of them no matter how false they were intended to be. 

Maybe Javier had let himself get carried away. Maybe he was in too deep already, considering to let his _bounty_ go, considering to get into his pants instead of his head - although maybe, those things didn't deviate by much. 

His hips stuttered upwards, up into his own hand, chasing the tightness of his fist. Pre-come had eased the slide of his fingers, had turned the situation beneath his clothes more messy than it necessarily had to be. He had planned to get this over with quickly, to get off before more than minutes went by, to get the tension out of his body for good. 

With as much pent-up, he was afraid what he might do, afraid of his own next steps. Of course he needed Williamson wrapped around his fingers, but what if the man managed to do just the same to him? His every motion indicated that he held just the same craves Javier did, that he had ached for something so wrong - for something so impossibly _right_ \- all through his life. Javier still had a lot to learn about him, feeling anxious at the fact that he _wanted to_ see this man for more than a source of information. 

This was a gamble he couldn't win, a game already lost before it began for good. 

Javier bucked up against his hand once more, and again, and again. And suddenly it was over. 

He came with a deep and shaky sigh, feeling his cock twitch in his hands as he spent himself in his briefs, as he stained the fabric for good, a wet spot beginning to grow on the front of his pants. It was the image of Williamson that had brought him over the edge, the memory of his heated stare under the faint lamp-light, with the night's silence and the buzzing of flies around them. He still saw it clearly, his mind able to shape the man's face in front of his eyes, to turn it into that blissful mask yet again. 

The other's body had been so close to his own, making him feel _small_ but safe, emitting heat and warmth, smelling nothing but *manly* no matter the alcohol lingering in Javier's nostrils at the time. Williamson was everything he shouldn't want, everything he should feel _repulsed_ by. But he didn't. The more he saw of him, the more he imagined of the big man, the deeper Javier fell into this hole he had dug for himself. 

He pulled his hand out of his pants, wiping it mindlessly against his leg. The stickiness lingered on his fingers, another sigh escaping him as he pushed himself to his feet, heavy limbs carrying him down to the stream, where he hoped to wash off more than just the stains of his deeds. 

-

"Hungry?" He held the can of beans out towards the other man, the contents still steaming from being heated above the campfire. Javier hadn't found sleep after all, had used his time in solitude to change and wash his clothes, to gather firewood and turn this place into a proper camp. For the moment, it would be enough. And for the time it had taken him, he had been able to not think any more than he needed to. 

"Thanks," the man answered, taking the offered meal, his fingers brushing Javier's as he placed them over the aluminium. His healthy hand was as strong as could be, only lacking practice from rarely being used; it was his left one after all. The other hung motionless between his legs, limp and concerning, the bandages wrapped around it shielding the bare eye from looking upon it's grizzly state. 

Williamson began to eat without another word, tipping the can to pour it's contents into his mouth, wincing and stopping upon realizing that it was too hot to devour all at once. "Shit," he muttered, trying to get air into his mouth, swallowing heavily after the worst of the burn had passed. 

Javier watched the display with an amused tilt to his eyebrow. He was sure the man had been starving at this point, not having eaten ever since he had gotten ahold of him, only disposing of the food that had previously been in his stomach. 

The day had gone by painstakingly slow, long hours of sunlight finally changing into twilight, turning their surroundings more ominous once again. They had been safe all through the day, no one stopping by or wandering close, no soul daring to intrude the peaceful campsite. Williamson had slept through most of it, his exhaustion making it clear that he had no intention to fully rise even now. After all this time, he still remained leaned against the tree stem, still had Javier's clothes piled under his head as a makeshift pillow. 

"Could'a told me 'twas hot," the man muttered, giving Javier a scolding look. "Burned my entire mouth with this," he continued to complain, although it was almost lighthearted. Compared to the way they had behaved around another the last day, it was almost _friendly_.

"Didn't know you was _that_ dense," Javier huffed with a laugh, wiping at his eyes that grew more heavy and tired the longer he kept them open. "You watched me heat it up," he added, leaning back against the tree behind him, mimicking Williamson's slumped and relaxed posture. 

The man continued eating more cautiously now, eventually offering the can back to Javier, who only shook his head. "Just eat," he mumbled, tiredly watching the way the flames drew shadows over Bill's ragged visage. "Get that strength up again," he said gently, aware that the man needed it more than he himself. 

It was after a beat of silence, after the wind turning and shifting the direction of the flames that Williamson made to speak again. He put the emptied can down, placing it by his side in the grass before wiping his hands against the fabric of his jeans. The stains upon them were still clear, dried blood and vomit, evidence of the last day's events. 

"What-- What's gonna happen now?" He asked, finding Javier's gaze over the fire. "What do you want from me?"

Javier swallowed lightly, the motion not noticeable to anyone but him. _Don't say anything wrong now_. 

"I'll get you to a doctor," he replied certainly, only giving Williamson another brief look. "I ain't able to help with those injuries, and- I can't have you lose that hand." Why? He didn't know. He just hoped that Williamson wouldn't ask any more questions. All he needed was his trust, that much only able to be gained over time. If he wanted time, he would need the other man healthy. He needed his deeds atoned and forgiven for, needed this redemption before anything about his plan could work out. 

Williamson slowly shook his head, looking down at the bandages covering the entirety of his right hand, at the brief stains visible from beneath the white. He released a timid laugh. "Why the hell- why're you doin' this?" It was obvious that he still had trouble believing in any pure intentions, although everything about him indicated that he dearly wanted to. 

"Because I'm sorry," Javier replied, swiftly taking the chance to speak and draw the other in further, not giving him much of a chance to overthink his words. "Because I wanna make up for what I've done. You- you were selfless to me, let me return that favor."

"Ain't been no favor," Bill grumbled, adjusting his position, reaching for the cup Javier had filled with water beforehand. "Just a reflex," he muttered into the water, swallowing as he drank, the movements drawing Javier in no matter how often he dared to look.

Silence fell over the both of them again, the gentle swaying of the branches overhead the only indicator that time hadn't stopped altogether. 

Javier was _tired_ , not having slept in more than a day, exhausted by the course of the last one. He couldn't keep his eyes open for much longer, although he couldn't possibly allow himself to take them off of his bounty - because that was what he was, tied or not, hostile or friendly. The man was his prize, his lifeline; the thing that would allow him to get back home in the very end. 

It was hard to forget that, but even harder to remember, especially in moments like these, where everything felt as foreign as could possibly be. He was threading on thin ice, walking a line that was about to rip beneath his feet. If he allowed himself to open up any further, if he allowed Williamson to get into his head - or God forbid, his heart - this could all very well be over. 

Javier knew that he had no luck in love, that his only talent was that of killing and torturing. And he couldn't do anything to change that.

"You... you doin' this often?" Williamson asked eventually, the cup now placed next to the empty can of beans, sitting between thin strands of grass. 

Javier peeled his eyes open, grunting in question as he looked at the other man again. 

"I ain't the first one, I reckon," Bill continued, his own voice showing signs of tiredness, although it was less clear in his face. "Not the first you turned in." Was how he concluded his thoughts, trailing off as if he had never said anything to begin with. 

"No," Javier replied, his voice hoarse, gruff. "Only the first who ended up savin' my sorry life," he huffed, fingers slipping into his chest pocket to retrieve the last cigarettes he had on himself. 

"You want?" He asked, waiting for the small nod before sticking the first between his lips, striking a match and setting it aflame. He inhaled the first drag, taking it out of his mouth to pass to Williamson, the gesture received with an unwavering stare and an almost shy 'thank you'.

After lighting his own, Javier threw the match into the fire ahead of him, reclining back against the tree trunk to fully enjoy the sensation of smoke filtering through his lungs. 

Williamson remained quiet for the time being, twirling the smoke between his fingers in between drags, cautiously wrapping his lips around the stalk that Javier's had touched just moments ago. 

"And you... you're sorry?" His gaze flickered up, meeting Javier's over the dancing flames, over the smoke rising up and towards the darkened skies. "You-" He shook his head, seemingly attempting to gather the thoughts running through it. There still was a reluctance to his words, the disbelief clear within them. "You don't want to turn me in no more?" 

Javier halted for a second, staring at the ground by his crossed ankles, shifting in the spot he occupied ever so slightly. Did he? Did he seriously consider letting this chance slip through his fingers? No. He had made up his mind, had decided that his approach had been all wrong before. Williamson knew violence, knew how to react and respond to it accordingly. Hell, several bounty hunters might've already tried and failed to get this information out of him, to beat it out of the man.

Compassion was what he wouldn't understand, deceit hidden behind warm and fuzzy feelings and promises what he'd not see coming. If Javier managed to get into his head, if he dug deeper until he could grasp his heart - he would get everything he'd need. The man wasn't _dumb_ as such. He was just as sad and starved for affection as Javier was, this game that he planned on playing likely to destroy the both of them in the end. 

But wasn't it still worth it? Didn't he promise himself to do _everything_ it took to get back home? 

"I don't," he said gently, looking up at the other man. "I can't," he corrected, taking a deep breath as the cigarette burned away between his fingers. "Not anymore, after what you've done for me."

The stare of the other man turned more thoughtful still, a soft sound leaving his lips. Javier didn't know if it meant more than that he'd understood his words, didn't know what Bill thought at all. He didn't need to, however. Because the man took another deep drag of his cigarette, because he closed his eyes in relaxation, releasing the smoke from his nostrils. 

And if anything, the continuously dancing flames only enhanced the feelings blossoming in Javier's chest, enhanced the wish to keep this connection, no matter how much of an _act_ it was supposed to be. 

He stubbed out the cigarette, eventually throwing it into the fire. His back ached from the hardness of the tree-bark, although when he leaned back again, it seemed to receive him just like a comfortable mattress would. 

"We ride in the morning," he mumbled, crossing his arms in front of his chest, settling in for the night as well as he could. He trusted that Williamson would still be around when he woke, aware that the man had no intention of running through the wilderness in his condition. 

A grunt was all he received, Bill's head already hanging low, chin resting on his own chest. 

He took a few moments to just watch him, to rake his eyes over the man like he had earlier in the day already, admiring the way his features loosened as soon as sleep crept up on him. 

-

They stayed until the next morning before climbing on Boaz' back together.

The day had broken with a thunderstorm threatening above the horizon. Gloomy clouds and grumbling noises had been what Javier was greeted with as he first opened his eyes, neither of those things letting up by the time he had gotten a fire going. 

Williamson was a grumpy person in the mornings, slowly falling into his old habits now that he grew more comfortable in Javier's presence. It made him proud to see, lulling Javier into the safety of his measures taking effect. Maybe he didn't have to get much closer than that, maybe his heart could remain safely hidden behind his chest still. If all Williamson needed was a _friend_ , Javier would do whatever he could to be that for him.

"Think there'll be more hunters out in Valentine?" Bill asked from his spot against the tree, holding onto the bark to get to his legs for the first time of their stay. 

"Sure." Javier looked back at him from where he was folding the clothes he'd washed the other day, proud he had found them in a relatively dried state. "They'll smell you from miles away," he joked, storing his clothes in his saddlebags, pulling another bundle out of his belongings. 

He passed the clothing to the other man, throwing them in a shallow arch that caught Williamson off guard. Javier doubted that his _own_ clothes would fit the likes of Williamson, although with the ones he'd found on the bottom of his bags, he might have a chance. 

"Get dressed," he directed, turning back to the other man before glancing up towards the sky. "And make it quick, it's gonna pour." His hands returned to their work from before, tightening the straps of his saddle before slipping in a leather pocket to extract a package of cigarettes. With Williamson preoccupied, he had another few moments to himself, another few moments to try and calm his heartbeat. They'd be riding one horse for the duration of a day, possibly more. Javier was unsure if he could endure that long with Bill's constant presence against his back, with his _front_ constantly pressed against his backside. 

"Uhm." The clearing of a throat, another beat of silence. Javier stopped in his tracks, kept his back turned on Williamson as the cigarette limply hung between his lips. "You- couldn't give me a hand, could you?" The man asked, eliciting a soft sigh from Javier, his fingers twitching around the cigarette as he stuffed it back into the package. 

"What's the--" He turned, paused, took in the sight in front of him. Williamson had managed to shrug the shirt off his shoulders, checkered fabric pooling on the soil and grass. His pants were undone, pushed down to his knees, _waiting_ to be removed completely but stopped by his boots still in place. 

Javier had to force his eyes away from the man's middle, had to blink them once and twice, focusing on Bill's heated face now, on the red and ruddy coloring of his cheeks. "You serious?" He muttered under his breath, stepping closer with reluctance, feeling the undeniable itch to _touch_ , to put his hands on this man's body and feel him for all he was worth. His briefs were _tight_ , hiding nothing of what laid underneath. Their creamy white color only made it painfully clear that the man had absolutely nothing to hide, and to Javier's shock, not even the stains upon the fabric made him tear his eyes away.

He swallowed heavily, his throat suddenly feeling very dry, his own pants suddenly feeling very tight. 

"Just- help me get them boots off, okay?" Bill asked, averting his stare under the weight of Javier's, turning his face away ever so slightly. 

Javier had nothing to say to that, every cocky comment he might've let slip in any other situation dying on the tip of his tongue. Because this was _Williamson_ , and Javier could still remember how satisfying the orgasm he had on his behalf had felt. 

He brushed the other man's hand aside, placing it against the bark of the tree as a clear order to _hold_. It was with another sigh that he dropped to the ground, not daring to look up in this position he had gotten himself into, lifting the man's leg to slip the boot from his foot. 

After the first was done, he swiftly moved on to the next, not wanting to stay in this position any longer than he needed to, aware of the erection showing behind his poor choice of tight jeans. 

"Ouch, watch it," Bill bit out above him, whining and cursing like a too-tall child, stumbling back against the tree as he came off-balance. 

Javier didn't even know what had bothered him now, forgetting himself for a second as he looked up with as annoyed a look as he could muster. He came face to face with the _bulge_ in Williamson's underwear, his mouth gaping for a second as he tried and failed to avert his stare. 

Silence settled for a loaded second, Williamson staring down at him while Javier stared straight at his dick. 

Shuffling, the second boot falling heavily to the ground. 

"Thank you." An awkward cough, the man turning to the side, pulling his pants all of the way down. 

Javier nodded his head, stood without further comment, left the other to his own devices as he returned to his horse, the crave for a cigarette greater than it had been before. 

Thunder roared above them, dark clouds seemingly growing in size, threatening to spill and plunge the area into rain. 

"We gotta move," Javier reminded, calling over his shoulder, disinclined to look at the man in his current state of undress. 

"Don't rush me," Wiliamson's voice sounded strained, the man still struggling with the clothing Javier had given him to wear. "Ain't no good things happenin' in a rush," he called again, making Javier roll his eyes at the silliness, at the _ease_ of their conversation. 

He never had a friend in his life, at least not consciously; had never confided in a person he casually knew, never came to appreciate the good-natured teasing and joking he experienced now. Was this what it was all about? Sharing conversation around the campfire, bad-mouthing everything the other said or did? 

If it weren't for his pointless attraction or the general circumstances of their acquaintance, Williamson might've been a friend to him. Maybe he would nonetheless, seeing as the man had _already_ sneaked his way into Javier's head - already occupying it more than anything else. 

And at this point, Javier would much prefer just being after the money. 

"What's takin' you so long?" He groaned, turning around after all, planning to stuff the man into his ill-fitting clothes and if it was the last thing he'd do. As it turned out though, Williamson had managed just fine without his assistance. 

The man looked slimmer, forced into a shirt at least one size smaller, pants that didn't do much to hide what was obviously behind. 

Javier trailed his eyes up and down his appearance, huffing when the man shamelessly grabbed his crotch to adjust against the tight fit. 

"Great," Javier said, grabbing for Boaz' reigns, leading him farther into their camp. "Now get on," he directed, stepping aside to give Bill all the space he'd need. "And try not to rip those pants," he added in warning, watching as the bigger man cautiously approached his horse, stepping into a stirrup before pulling himself up.

He settled in behind the saddle, Javier following his lead and climbing onto his horses' back himself. 

Arms wrapped around his waist, warm breath at the nape of his neck, tickling the few hairs loosened from his ponytail. He was flush against the other's front, feeling what he'd seen before; bulky muscles pressed against his comparably scrawny back, heat spreading from the proximity of their bodies. There was something undeniably different, something varying from the rather soft flesh of the man's stomach. An undeniable _hardness_ digging into Javier's lower back. 

He had willed his erection to deflate before, had equipped everything within his mind to chase it away. With the evidence of Bill's very own _want_ so clear against him however, he had no way of keeping it that way. The hands around his waist only made matters worse, fingertips so politely resting against his stomach, holding him gently and without force. 

Javier spurred his horse into a gentle pace, pressing his legs into his flanks. The movements brought them even closer together, had Williamson involuntary _rut_ against Javier's ass. 

Safe to say, that ride wouldn't be an easy one.


End file.
